Part 16 (1/2)

”Why, you bob-tailed skunk,” shouted a new voice. ”You bone-spavined, pink-eyed rat-catcher,” continued this very particular describer, ”what have you got on us? Come out and d.i.c.ker and we'll do the same!”

The sheriff sighed, softly, deeply.

”I thought maybe they wouldn't get down to talk,” he murmured. But since the last chance for a battle was gone, he stepped fearlessly from behind his rock and advanced into the open. Two tall figures came to meet him.

”Now,” said Lee Haines, stalking forward. ”One bad move, just the glint of a single gun from the rest of you sheep thieves, and I'll tame your pet sheriff and send him to h.e.l.l for a model.”

They halted, close to each other, the two big men, Haines in the front, and the sheriff.

”You're Lee Haines?”

”You've named me.”

”And you're Buck Daniels?”

”That's me.”

”Gents, you've resisted an officer of the law in the act of makin' an arrest. I s'pose you know what that means?”

Big Lee Haines laughed.

”Don't start a bluff, sheriff. I know a bit about the law.”

”Maybe by experience?”

It was an odd thing to watch the three, every one of them a practiced fighter, every one of them primed for trouble, but each ostentatiously keeping his hands away from the holsters.

”What we might have done if we had come to a pinch,” said Haines, ”is one thing, and what we did do is another. Barry was started and off before we had a chance to show teeth, my friend, and you never even caught the flash of our guns. If he'd waited but he didn't. There's nothing left for us to do except say good-by.”

The little dusty man stroked his moustaches thoughtfully. He had gone out there hoping against hope that his chance might come--to trick the two into violence, even to start an arrest for reasons which he knew his posse would swear to; but it must be borne in mind that Pete Gla.s.s was a careful man by instinct. Taking in probable speed of hand and a thousand other details at a glance, Pete sensed the danger of these two and felt in his heart of hearts that he was more than master of either of them, considered alone; better than Buck Daniels by an almost safe margin of steadiness; better than Lee Haines by a flickering instant of speed. Had either of them alone faced him, he would have taken his chance, perhaps, to kill or be killed, for the long trail and the escape had fanned that spark within him to a cold, hungry fire; but to attempt a play with both at the same time was death, and he knew it. Seeing that the game was up, he laid his cards on the table with characteristic frankness.

”Gents,” he said, ”I reckon you've come clean with me. You ain't my meat and I ain't goin' to clutter up your way. Besides”--even in the dull moons.h.i.+ne they caught the humorous glint of his eyes--”a friend is a friend, and I'll say I'm glad that you didn't step into the shady side of the law while Barry was gettin' away.”

No one could know what it cost Pete Gla.s.s to be genial at that instant, for this night he felt that he had just missed the great moment which he had yearned for since the day when he learned to love the kick of a six-shooter against the heel of his hand. It was the desire to meet face to face one whose metal of will and mind was equal to his own, whose nerves were electric energies perfectly under command, whose muscles were fine spun steel. He had gone half a lifetime on the trail of fighters and always he had known that when the crisis came his hand would be the swifter, his eyes the more steady; the trailing was a delight always, but the actual kill was a matter of slaughter rather than a game of hazard. Only the rider of the black stallion had given him the sense of equal power, and his whole soul had risen for the great chance of All. That chance was gone; he pushed the thought of it away--for the time--and turned back to the business at hand.

”They's only one thing,” he went on. ”Sliver! Ronicky! Step along, gents, and we'll have a look at the insides of that house.”

”Steady!” broke in Haines. He barred the path to the front door.

”Sheriff, you don't know me, but I'm going to ask you to take my word for what's in that house.”

Gla.s.s swept him with a look of a new nature.

”I got an idea your word might do. Well, what's in the house?”

”A little five-year-old girl and her mother; nothing else worth seeing.”

”Nothing else,” considered the sheriff, ”but that's quite a lot. Maybe his wife could tell me where he's going? Give me an idea where I might call on him?”

”Partner, you can't see her.”